Brush with Reality
by FaceMeltor
Summary: The cast isn't over and done yet with their problems and Dead Master didn't graduate from the 'giving up' school of life. Boundaries are crossed and realities mixed. DANGER: cognitive hazard ahead. May contain lesbians.
1. Adorableness Incoming

Yomi never really knew what to think of the other one after the debacle back in june. Considering what happened she shouldn't have, but she couldn't help herself. What had happened had simply been one great bit too strange. After she got lost in the other place, after she did... things to her best friend she never would have done to her worst enemy, after she, her heart, her body, got turned inside-out and back again by forces she didn't even know existed-

...well, it was a lot to take in at once, made even worse since she had nothing to orient herself with. There were no precedent cases, no general idea on what to do now the nightmare was over. If she had been kidnapped, well, that could have been worse, but at least she'd have known how to deal with it. This was terra nova, so to speak. She never thought being a pioneer could be so frightening.

Yomi wasn't a hateful person. The other one was, as far as she could tell. She didn't know how to answer to that; should she give her another chance? Her heart and upbringing told her to do so since it was the Right Thing To Do, but her instincts, those little leftover stubs that hadn't been weeded out by her parents and teachers yet told her to lock down all the gates and prepare for war.

In short, she was at a loss of what to do.

This didn't change that the other one terrified her. She was so different from Yomi in every single way that she just couldn't get her head around how you could be that way and still stay sane. Maybe she wasn't.

She still was friends with Mato after that occurence of course. They were best friends before it happened and they had only grown closer after. Every day she spent together with her was a good day and one she wouldn't want to miss. In a lot of ways they were also more than just friends; whatever happened in the other place had changed very many things between them, mostly in good ways. Yomi reminded herself of the old saying that bad things always brought about good things.

But of course, the real world never was this easy. This wasn't one of the cute children's books Mato liked to read, with their colorful birds and neatly wrapped up happy ends. Here, once the dice were cast the results would affect them all for years to come. It would leave it's imprint on their lives.

So it came to be that on one ordinary evening of an ordinary day Yomi had spent together with Mato at the mall she was sitting at her table with the mirror and was idly brushing her hair. Her thoughts wandered, returning to Mato again and again, that laugh, that grin, her happy-go-lucky attitude. An airy smile made it's way across her face. So lost in thought she was that she only noticed the brush dropping from her fingers when it clattered on the parquett. Jarred, she reached down, picked it up, sat back again-

-and looked straight into the green eyes of the other one.

Yomi was in shock. A woman- no, girl- no, monster from her actual nightmares-turned-reality had appeared out of nowhere, after she had expected her, it to be gone. Faded. Vanished. Yomi wasn't so good with the k-word. She barely managed to push herself away from her, to try to melt into the seat cushions, but then was frozen stiff. It was as if some primal part of her brain had taken over and kept telling her 'when you don't move the dangerous thing might not notice you' which was a flawed premise because the thing she would have tried to hide from might as well have been herself. She wasn't sure, but right now she wasn't doing much thinking anyway.

While Yomi was trying to make herself as small and uninteresting as possible the other one was unfazed. If Yomi hadn't been so terrified, she probably would have wondered why the other one was looking at her so weirdly. She looked pensive, thoughtful almost. On a face usually twisted into a mask of sadistic glee it did look very out of place. Not enough to pacify Yomi though.

The squirming and frantic looks she was recieving didn't disturb the one with the horns in the slightest; she simply kept staring at Yomi as if she was some mathematical problem and the other one simply couldn't figure it out at all. Slowly, over more than five long minutes which felt like the longest of her entire life, during which the luminently green eyes of the other bored into her, Yomi relaxed.

She didn't trust this thing; this creature (she was still unwilling to think of the other one as a human being, for so many reasons). They had too much of a history just to forget. But right now it didn't seem like there was any aggression in there. As the other one stared at Yomi, Yomi began examining her.

She was, it struck Yomi, her caricature. The other one had her face, her shape. Yomi felt like she was looking at an image of herself with the contrast turned all the way up. Some things were out of focus or driven to extremes. Chalk white skin, jet black hair, a royal face and superior, haughty demeanor. If Yomi had been nicknamed 'Little Princess' on the playground when she was little, this one would have been the 'Ice Queen', especially with her vertebrae-like horns framing her face like some sort of visceral halo.

The other moved a hand up to cup her chin and rested her elbow on the table, leaning forward. Yomi backed away again. Not due to the closeness, but because of the hand. At first, she thought it was encased in some sort of black gauntlet with claws; closer examination showed the plain holes where the other's palm was supposed to be and Yomi realized that these actually /were/ the other's hands. Dark claws; hand bones seemingly taken from a man about twice her size and blackened to make a threatening discouragement to handshakes for everyone in sight. The way her 'finger''tips' (both terms unfitting in certain ways) pushed into the other's face reminded Yomi of railway spikes pressed against skin, ready to be forced inside. The horned one of course trusted her own fingers more than that.

The horned one was almost as concerned as Yomi was, though she didn't show it. She was used to being in her element. She was used to having some sort of advantage over someone else, she was used to having them frightened. She was used to... well, winning, at least that's what every cell in her body told her. It was what made her, what she consisted of. A complete, absolute feeling of superiority.

And yet this little girl there, that frightened little bird had somehow thrown her off. Not alone, but it's the intent that matters. The dark image of course clearly remembered what happened back in summer, how Yomi had opened her heart to jealousy upon seeing Mato spend time with anyone but her, how it had consumed her and at the same time how she consumed it to create... her. Yes, the horned one was much more well-informed on the emotions of her host, creator, parasite, whatever their relationship was. It was easy to her of course, being composed entirely of thoughts and emotions.

And now, a little while after those happenings, she had come back. It had been inevitable, in a sense. Yomi lived, Yomi breathed and well, the horned one was a part of her, in some weird, spiritual sense that the mirage did not grasp entirely and which Yomi was only beginning to understand right now, looking into the mirror. The dark one did not care much. She was confused, and that was her problem. She hated being confused. She needed to rule, to be in command, to dominate her surroundings, it was in her blood, in her very essence. She was a Master.

But right now... she wasn't. And it irked her to no end.

Due to this, the current arrangement had come around in the first place. A mirror image does not simply change out of a mood. In the mirage's case it was mroe than that, it was an almost physical need to do- something, anything to change her situation. She needed to act, right now.

So she knocked.

As the dark claws of her mirror image first rose Yomi was confused. As they then balled up into a fist she was feeling a bit threatened. As they then softly rapped against the mirror (well, soft for bone claws anyway, it still sounded like pennies falling onto a glass table) Yomi was right back to confused. Then rapped again. Then rapped another time. What was she doing?

The contemplative look on the mirror image's face warped into her trademark sadistic grin and she drew her fist back all the way.

Knock knock. IT'S ME!

While being showered in glass fragments, pitching backwards in her chair and screaming like the little girl she was Yomi seriously contemplated getting a psychologist or therapist to talk about all of this. Then she dumped the idea, she would need a person with at least as crazy a background as she had to talk about any of this without being considered for a closed institution, and how high were the chances for that?

A cold wind blew into her face, dusty, ancient and utterly alien and yet pulling too many strings in her heart to ignore. She knew this. This was how where she had gone had smelled, back in the bad old days. Any further thought on the matter was interrupted with a crunch of glass being ground under a heel. Yomi looked up.

Her image. She was standing above her, one foot still in the dream world, the other crushing glass splinters into Yomi's expensive mahogany desk. Mom will be so irate, thought Yomi in a fleeting moment. Her caricature took a look around her room and apparently found everything inside terribly amusing, the way her toxic-green gaze zeroed right back onto Yomi and a grin tore her face in half like some extraordinarily toothy wound, followed by the most girlish giggles the little princess had ever heard.

The mirage took another step forward, slipped her short heel on a glass shard lying flat on the table, tumbled forward, then planted her head face-first into the floor of Yomi's room. Some cosmic mercy made sure there were no glass shards at that exact place as her body followed and she came to rest in a knocked out pile of tangled limbs.

"Huh" said Yomi. Then she passed out.


	2. A Rude Awakening

The dark one wasn't feeling so well as she woke up. There was a handful of reasons for that; she was in a weird position sitting on the ground against a wall with her hands behind her back, those hands were tied up, her stubby bone wings were uncomfortably pressed against her back, she didn't know how she got here, where here was or why it was so dark or what had last happened. And her face hurt. A lot.

Which was weird because the only kind of pain she was familiar with was short and quickly fading flashes of intense agony when she was in battle. Not this dull, throbbing ache that just wouldn't go away. Any further contemplating was cut short as a light was flicked on and held right into her face from a few steps away. Horns flinched, then flinched harder because the movement disturbed something in her face. She never felt so tender before.

A rustling from behind the lamp. A dark shape moving in the darkness, but she can't tell who. Someone clearing their throat, clearly nervous and a bit frightened. She smirked. Even down and out she was still intimidating. A good feeling.

"S-so. You... you. Who are you!"

Her smirk twisted down into a slight frown. She was certain that last bit was supposed to be a question, but the inflection was all wrong. She also didn't like answering questions on principle. Again, this had a handful of reasons; usually she would be asking the questions and usually (meaning, in the entirety of her existence) she didn't talk. Talking was for people who had uncertanities in their lives. You should have figured out by now that she and any other of the mirror images in the other place were not one of those people. As said, every inch of her body told her to rule, crush and dominate everything in her reach. It was non-negotiable; anyone 'asking' for anything different would only incur her wrath and retribution.

This attitude was of course not very beneficial for her actually getting to rule over anything besides the two skulls she usually had about her and which felt more like an extension of herself in the first place. In fact, it led to everyone she ever met ending up in a fight with her. And subsequently dead. She did not question her methods once; after all, she emerged victorious every time and surely did dominate and crush someone, didn't she? Which was about the time when her brain caught back up to her thoughts and gently reminded her that not too long a time ago she was in effect hugged to death by a little girl piggybacking on a denizen of her plane; either that or vice versa, it was too convulted to tell at first glance.

The horned one may have been single-minded but she was by no measure of anyone in any world dumb. She was dangerously sharp in fact, not unlike her fingers or scythe. Not in a bookish sense, the only times she had seen books (at a distance, without opening them) had been in domains of others she had subsequently slaughtered. But she was wise; combining cunning and brutality to a dangerous package.

So not too long after finding herself awake after her 'death', she pulled herself out of the six feet she was under and regarded the landscape. In some ironic twist (or perhaps entirely deserved one, she had to admit) she had revived in a grave. An open pit with her laying down in a coffin, soft padding underneath her and a light rain pattering on her, making the earth mushy. The funeral attendance were about fifty shovels stuck into the ground in front of the grave, bleached skulls impaled on the handles, leering at her as she clawed her way out of the grave. The tombstone was marked in runes she could not read (which was not hard, she couldn't read anything at all) and in front of it were a smattering of roses.

Blue roses. With black stalks. And white thorns. It jogged her memory quite fast.

Uncharacteristically for her, she did not smash the grave, the creepy skull regiment or the roses on the spot for offending her by simply being there. At that very moment she had the closest experience someone from the other place can have to an 'existential crisis'. She had sat down behind the gravestone and rested her back against it. And she had done something she hadn't done in her entire life; she began thinking hard.

Naturally, it went slowly at first. She was working against mental concepts that, until now, had utterly defined her. Her body, her blood, her flesh told her one message: you are superior, you rule, you posess, you are THE queen.

But evidently, she wasn't. Alright, she was back on her feet and she could go and try to do it all again yadayadayada but that wasn't the point here. She had lost. To the dark queen this was as earth-shattering an experience as could have possibly happened; it would probably have struck her less if the entire world started collapsing in on itself. After all, she didn't care about the world. The world was of absolutely no concern to her and if it started breaking apart under her then so be it. About herself though, she did care a lot. About what defined her, she cared even more.

And somewhere in her head, all the way at the back behind the connection to Yomi and mountainous piles of ego, was a little niggling doubt, a little worm chewing and scratching away at her person itself, telling her the one thing she didn't want to know but couldn't swat down with the wet towel of easy excuses and overplayed indignity: you lost anyway. You lost, little girl. You're not as infallible as you think you are. The world does not revolve around you. You're just another unimportant little bit in the world and if you die again you might not get so lucky. You might die and fade and your remains will blow away in the wind and the only thing left of you will be a little note somewhere in the memory of Yomi which, one day in the future, will blow away too and nothing will be left of you. Nothing at all, and no one will have wept a tear for you.

She heard the voice, though she didn't want to. She heard it all too well. She knew what it was, what it symbolized. Her fear, her blank terror of the uncertain future, of her uncertain self. She could almost physically feel it, a crust of ice forming around the bottom of her heart, slowly creeping its way upwards and consuming who she was. Never resting, only fueled by her thoughts.

So she beat it down, ignored it, began practically talking to herself to keep that doubt from piercing who she was. She raved and ranted, used every emotion she had to just keep that away from her. Hate was a big part, towards the blue one and the little brat that tagged along with her. A mix of betrayal and disgust towards Yomi (oh yes, she did know her name) which was not entirely unexpected. But mostly hate. And lots of rage and anger, can't forget that. How dare they move against her, how dare they raise their hands agains the dark master of this world! How dare they... succeed.

And there it was again. She needed to do something, anything, or she'd be having a complete brain malfunction not too long away. A plan was formed as fast as she could and she expended almost all of her energy on it. It was easier than she expected it to be; in a world made of emotions perhaps strong emotions could make the emotee more powerful?

She didn't care nor think about it any further. She sat down in front of the mirror, engaged the connection and did her best to punch through. She had never heard of anyone doing something like this; then again, she had never talked to anyone anyway. What came afterwards should still be fresh in your memory; it certainly was for the horned girl as her smarting face reminded her.

"H-hello? Didn't you hear m-me? I said, answer my questions!" came from begind the lamp, again, still as weak as before, dragging the queen of darkness back to reality.

She really was not in the mood for this. Her slight frown turned into an animalistic snarl. She growled. Now, you may not read much into these two words but with her it was something else. It carried with it a promise of violence, an oath of pain followed by eventual death to anyone who would bring her to voicing it. It sounded like the dogs of hell were getting ready for a meal. She might also have let her eyes flash their toxic green colour brightly at the same time.

The princess of death heard a gasp and a ruffling of cloth behind the lamp, followed by a muffled impact of a very noble posterior onto the hardwood floor. Her mood improved considerably. Now free of annoying questions, she could devote herself to getting out of this funny situation. She tugged on her restraints; it was sturdy rope of some sort tied to the radiator behind her. With a tug she tore them apart, the sturdy nylon rope (not that she knew what nylon was) tearing like tissue paper against her bone claws. She got up and stretched herself a bit, flapped her spiky bone wings, pointedly not reacting to the frightful noises coming from somewhere behind the murk of darkness. She took a look around and, now that she wasn't being shone in the face spotted shut curtains with a single ray of light shining through the middle.

A smile curved over her face and she walked over to it, gripped the heavy fabric in her claws and threw them to the sides. Brightness filled the room like a floodlight and she saw her face reflected in the glass. Her good mood vanished fairly fast. Her nose was broken, bent to the side, a rip going over the top, and there was green blood all over her face. Not pretty. She did what she did all those times when something had broken in a fight: reached up and twisted it back into the proper shape with a sickening crack of bone and cartilage.

Doubled over wheezing in the pain, she concluded that something was really different in this world. Pain was never this intense way back when, especially not over minor things like a broken nose. A broken leg, the knee cracked forwards to be precise, hadn't even given her half of the agony this move had just brought her. And it still felt tender; usually it was fixed in moments once brought back into shape.

No matter. It was fixed now, it was time to get back to business. As she turned on the spot, she could finally see her captor.

Yomi was curled up next to her bed, eyes wide and frightened. In front of her lied a desk lamp with the head turned up to shine straight ahead. The room, aristocratic and expensively kitted out, could not have interested the dark one less. The queen, silhouetted against the daylight, stalked forward. Her steps measured, precise. She had waited a long time for this. She knows that this, direct contact with her origin, is the only way she'll ever get any change into herself or what passes for her life.

She had no idea what she was about to do.

Which isn't surprising if you know her as well as you should by now. It's a sad thing when lots of power and no control or direction come together.

Yomi backed away, of course. She was terrified, once again. After waking up from the impromptu panic-nap she took after the beast of her nightmares tore her way out of her dreamworld and right into the one place she still considered mostly safe she immediately tied her to the strongest fixture around with the strongest rope she could find in her fathers' tool shed. That it was mostly useless is a foregone conclusion but gives Yomi less credit than she deserves. The weird pseudo-psychological mirror image never falls far from the tree. She expected that something might go wrong.

So as the dark mistress reached out, stretched her arm and let her jagged claws dip towards Yomi, with a cry of fear the little heiress brought up the kitchen knife she had been hiding behind her back and slashed wildly towards the black hand. The blade hit the metal-like bones in the spot between index finger and thumb, skipped off the unyielding material and traveled further down the arm. It scratched a line down the opera-glove like bone armor enveloping the horned one down to mid-forearm, slicing open her black silk sleeve in the process; then it buried itself deep in the white flesh just below her elbow.

The blade was ripped out immediately by Yomi taking a reflexive jump backwards. And then silence reigned.

After a few seconds of frightened cowering Yomi managed to crack open an eye and take a peek at her nemesis. Dark one was just standing there, looking at her arm with a confused and incomprehensive expression on her face as toxic green blood ran down her white skin, following the crook of her elbow to the underside and then dripping to the floor.

It dripped quite fast because the elbow, just like the inner thigh or the armpit, is a high traffic zone for large blood vessels and a single deep cut or puncture can spell death by exsanguination in thirty to sixty seconds. Lat.: 'Ex', prefix, 'out' or 'out of'. 'Sanguis', noun, 'liquid blood'; together: bleeding to death. The more you know, and knowing is half the battle.

Certainly would have been for Miss Death if she had any idea of blood vessels, combat technique in general or ancient dead languages. As it was, her gaze is nailed to her arm, the cut so sudden and unexpected she cannot truly comprehend it. She saw a movement, then there was an intense pressure and pull on her arm, then this sickeningly warm liquid begun running down it. It couldn't have been an attack, could it? She had seen only a flash of something, no attack. She could intercept a bullet launched by that blue bint by swatting it out of the air with her scythe and almost count the rifling grooves on the shell while doing so. She must have suddenly burst something in her arm, that must hve been it. She'd never just get surprise-attacked, successfully even less so, by a little girl more at home with handling teacups and knitting needles. And she was still pushing those thoughts around when she felt a weird lightness befall her head and her sense of balance quit it's job and went to look for better working conditions.

She stumbled backwards, trying to stay upright. This wasn't supposed to happen. She. She. She? She couldn't fail. She didn't fail. She never failed.

'Except you did before already, didn't you?', said the insidious little voice. Said her weakness. Said that which was not her and never would be, if she had anything to say about it.

She needed... oh, right about now a lie-down sounded just like the one thing she needed, was she thought while sliding onto her butt after stumbling against the window on the other side of the room. On the way down her wings carved twin scratches into the glass, then caught on the lower latch and pulled the window open.

And there she lay, dripping life liquid onto the floor. The wind blowing her hair around, a smear and green shoeprints dragged themselves all the way across the room, leading to the death princess laid out on the floor like a toxic sack of potatoes. Eyes half-lidded,arms out to either side, her dress partially soaked and sticky in poisonous green.

Yomi couldn't believe what she had done. Did she do the unspeakable? Did she... kill?

"Of course you didn't", is what the dark princess would have said if she hadn't been feeling very bloodless that moment. Her eyes slowly fell shut and she felt weaker by the second. But then it hit her.

She hadn't thought this one through properly. She needed time. She needed time and room to think. She needed to get clear with her objectives and how to get there in the first place. She couldn't give up, she couldn't surrender.

So she began scrabbling her legs to get back up, slipping in her own blood and bumping her knees until she managed to stand unsteadily, unevenly splattered in green ichor. Swaying on her feet, she shot Yomi a last look full of promises of revenge.

Then she tipped backwards out of the window.

xxx

Ladies and gentlemen, madames et messieurs, meine sehr geehrten Damen und Herren, please let me welcome you to this little horrorshow of love, drama, tears, pain and relentless yuri! Let me please introduce myself, my name is FaceMeltor and I will be your host tonight and on all other night to come on which you'll let me dance and entertain you. I hope you'll find this litte romp as enjoyable as I will because we're not pulling any punches here; Yomi will face her inner demons (NOT counting our little death princess here), Mato will learn watching out for people's feelings, BRS will learn to actually emote beyond the capacities of a chilled bagel and Dead Master will break herself and maybe fix herself in the process if she's lucky enough! Yell at me in the review section so I get bullied into writing more!

Please my dear readers, sit back and relax while we all have

A

BRUSH

WITH

REALITY


	3. Perspective is Everything

Many things depend entirely on the perspective they are viewed from to make any sense. When you'd enlarge an image on your computer to eighty times it's original size you wouldn't be able to make out a thing without zooming all the way out again. It's in the same vein that appreciating a painting is only possible when you look at it from an aceptable distance away, not too close and not too far away. Also important is that you actually look at the right side of the painting. A Picasso won't amaze you much if you're looking at the backside.

This can of course be applied to the real world too; the best example to be found is still the terrorist / freedom fighter divide. Well, who's who? Ask the person in question, surely he's a freedom fighter, fighting the good fight against the enemies oppressing him and his people. Ask the one who's house he just blew up and you'll get a very different opinion.

And in this little tale we can find the same conundrum right again. Who is the dark princess? Well, if you'd ask her and avoid getting cut to ribbons in the meantime, well...

To be completely honest, she wouldn't be able to answer the question satisfactorily either. A week ago, certainly. Perhaps in a week she will be able to again. But not now. Right now, her perspective is warped enough to resemble, well, a little girl with some demonic features lying on her back on a garden's lawn, getting soaked. Rain patters down on her and it gives her this terrible sense of deja-vu, followed by the connection to her 'funeral' lighting up as soon as her head unscrewed itself from the harsh impact it suffered not too long ago.

How high is that window, five, six meters? Oh how the mights have fallen, visual pun not intended. She could clearly remember how she used to vault her cathedral's height easily while locked in battle with some foaming-at-the-mouth vermin. How pitiful.

If you can't tell, her momentary bout of anger and vindictiveness in face of Yomi's resistance has already faded. She's lying down on Yomi's back yard, a bed of muddy grass around her, the toxic green substance she'd call her blood if she had the words for it splattered around her arm. The flow had stopped, thankfully, but she still didn't feel any better. If anything, landing out here made her feel worse and dashed the bit of spite she had held onto for a minute or two.

It was all founded in how wrong everything felt on principle.

That spark, that fire in her, was dashed by the dawning realization that she was completely out of her depth here. SHe was good in her home turf, on the withering and ever-changing lands that made up the other place. She knew how it worked, how to tweak it to make it work for her especially well, well enough to punch through the veil of dimensions if necessary.

But this, this wasn't Kansas anymore. This, this 'outside world' felt too cold. Surely, her world wasn't warm on principle either, she had been to enough tundra-like domains to know so for a fact, but it always held the warmth of someone's soul. If an area was uninhabited in her world it was empty. If the occupant was killed it soon returned to emptiness. In every cross, every tombstone, every pillar of her domain could be felt: these are the dark princess' lands. Here, the light of her soul shone. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

It was threatening in many cases, it was blunt and forceful in almost all, but at least you knew what you were dealing with. At least you had a bit of dependability in your life. But out here?

She shifted her shoulders a bit to get her pointy wings out from under her. The muddy, wet soil squelched and soaked further into her dress.

You couldn't be sure of anything. Yomi, that little wallflower Yomi, the little kid with the aristocratic bearing and dainty little fingers tied her down and slashed her arm open. And dropped her with it. Wasn't she used to taking wounds that would have instantly killed lesser beings? That is downright laughable, that is.

She rolled over and pushed herself off the ground with her unwounded arm, the claws sinking into the soft soil. She could feel the grassroots getting ripped and torn to pieces under her fingers. She pushed and propped herself up, sitting on her feet in what you'd call a seiza-position. She took a look around. A nice garden, clean lawn, pretty trimmed little bushes. It looked neat. It didn't make her happy.

Right now, nothing made her happy. The little things couldn't brighten her day anymore because the big things, or more like the One Big Thing, overshadowed everything else.

She got up. The mud was cold, too cold. Trudging towards the veranda, stumbling, slipping. Leaving a trail of splattered mud and toxic green substance behind her. Reaching the glass pane door, she realized she couldn't open it from this side. The strength, or more likely the will, for smashing through it had left her long ago. So she just rested her backa gainst it and slid down, leaving a muddy skid on the glass. She breathed deep and rested her face in her hands.

She had to re-organize. She had to prepare better. She had to get a ay of the land and re-asses her strategy. She had to, to, to toooo and that was around the moment when her train of thought crashed as hard as she had crashed into the muddy soil. And the niggling little voice from behind her ego caught up with her.

Heeey. Didn't we have this train of thought before already? You got cut down by a girl that has about as much battle experience as you have in the tip of your pinky-claw. You had to run away from her just to survive the day. Now you're down in the dirt and you can't even get the strength together to get up and move your useless weak butt somewhere less exposed. But you know? It fits. You are worthless after all.

And while the self-doubt was drilling it's way through Dead Masters heart and mind, salty, watery, runny and thin green liquid dropped through the gaps between the black bones of her hands.

Alone and abandoned by the world, Dead Master cried for the first time in her life.

xxx

Excuse me for the sadness and the shortness, this is in all practicality just the first half of the chapter. But updates must be posted so them's the breaks! The next one will deal with the equally human feelings on Yomi's side. I hope I don't look too much like I'm betraying the tags I marked this story out as yet, haha! It would be so bad to spoil the suprise!


	4. A word from the Author

Dear readers!  
I'm very sorry that I haven't updated in so long but to cut a long excuse short, many many things happened. Now, I hope you can excuse me another time because I don't think I'll be able to continue the current plot right off the bat due to having spent such a long time without writing anything.

So! As a bonus / malus, however you want to see it, you'll get a side story shortie that I'll use to get back on track with this setting. The characters may even become relevant later on! It also may be pretty damn bad because it's the first thing I wrote in months but oh well, you'll have to die one death one way or the other.

Check my account for the story "Ninja zEro Two". The update for this story is already in production.


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